I could go see what was the matter.”
Grandpa's face, with the sun showing up the hollows and creases, looked sad.
“When I got to Mistress Callie's place, my Dahlia was gone. The mistress said she couldn't hardly run the farm without her husband there, and the food stores were so low she had to sell off her best hands. I wanted to kill the old woman right then—wring her neck like a scrawny chicken. But I controlled myself. Real quiet, I said, ‘Then you won't want to be feeding my son,’ and I went to fetch your daddy from the quarters. He was about two years old, I reckon. I carried him back to Master Johnson's place.
“Master Johnson didn't ask me a thing—I guess he figured I'd gotten him a new slave boy for free. And Mistress Callie never came looking for her stolen property either. She must have been too guilty about selling off my Dahlia like that. And she didn't want to feed a child too young to work.
“Right about that time, the war came close and all day we heard the boom-boom of guns and cannons. You could feel it inyour chest—it shook the earth. And the sky turned dark with black clouds that came from all the gunpowder. Master Johnson said the Yankees would be coming soon. He wrapped up his money and silver in a sheet, then took me into the woods with him. He told me to climb up this rotten tree—it was hollow with a hole up high—and drop the sack down in. If the Yankees killed him, he said, I'd know where it was.
“Now, my kinfolk used to say that old Master Johnson was my daddy, but I never believed them until that day. My mamma died before I could ask her was it true. But he never had any white children of his own, and here he was showing me his hiding place.”
“Did the Yankees come?” I asked.
“They came, all right. They didn't kill Master Johnson, but they took every stitch of meat out of our smokehouse and near emptied both the corncribs. Then they set fire to the master's house. We all ran with buckets of water to put the fire out—it would have been one sorry sight, Master Johnson having to sleep in the slave quarters after his house burned down!”
Grandpa laughed, then coughed a bit.
“Did the Yankees find the silver?” I asked.
“Lord, they tore up the place something awful looking for it, slicing the featherbeds with knives and breaking open crates and jugs. They knew he'd hid it. I think that's why they set the house afire—they were angry about not finding the money.
“A few years later, when the war ended, Master Johnson says to me, ‘Ulysses, you're as free as I am now. You can stay on and work for me, and I'll make sure you have what you need, or you can leave.’ I didn't stay long. When I was fixing to leave, Master Johnson took a piece of muslin and wrapped some money up in it and gave it to me. That's when I knew he was my daddy—he didn't have to do that.
“I used that money to buy our first fishing skiff. When I sold my first load of fish, I started putting ads in the newspapers for my Dahlia, so she'd know where I was and that I was looking for her. Everybody was putting ads in the papers in those days—seemed like every man and his uncle was looking for kin they'd lost.”
He was quiet for a time, rocking his head back and forth gently against the wooden fence rail.
“I guess I'm the only one still putting ads in. Seems everyone else either found their kin or gave up looking.”
I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. “You want a drink of water, Grandpa?”
We both got up and went to the rain barrel.
“We can put in another ad when we go with Daddy to Manteo,” I said. “We've sold so many fish I'm sure he's got an extra dollar for you.”
Grandpa nodded, but his eyes looked far away, like he was still seeing a North Carolina past that I would never know.
FOURTEEN
I dreamed of fire—of red flames leaping from the rescue station roof to the lookout deck. But it was Grandpa, burning up with fever next to me, who'd made me have the
Grandpa's face, with the sun showing up the hollows and creases, looked sad.
“When I got to Mistress Callie's place, my Dahlia was gone. The mistress said she couldn't hardly run the farm without her husband there, and the food stores were so low she had to sell off her best hands. I wanted to kill the old woman right then—wring her neck like a scrawny chicken. But I controlled myself. Real quiet, I said, ‘Then you won't want to be feeding my son,’ and I went to fetch your daddy from the quarters. He was about two years old, I reckon. I carried him back to Master Johnson's place.
“Master Johnson didn't ask me a thing—I guess he figured I'd gotten him a new slave boy for free. And Mistress Callie never came looking for her stolen property either. She must have been too guilty about selling off my Dahlia like that. And she didn't want to feed a child too young to work.
“Right about that time, the war came close and all day we heard the boom-boom of guns and cannons. You could feel it inyour chest—it shook the earth. And the sky turned dark with black clouds that came from all the gunpowder. Master Johnson said the Yankees would be coming soon. He wrapped up his money and silver in a sheet, then took me into the woods with him. He told me to climb up this rotten tree—it was hollow with a hole up high—and drop the sack down in. If the Yankees killed him, he said, I'd know where it was.
“Now, my kinfolk used to say that old Master Johnson was my daddy, but I never believed them until that day. My mamma died before I could ask her was it true. But he never had any white children of his own, and here he was showing me his hiding place.”
“Did the Yankees come?” I asked.
“They came, all right. They didn't kill Master Johnson, but they took every stitch of meat out of our smokehouse and near emptied both the corncribs. Then they set fire to the master's house. We all ran with buckets of water to put the fire out—it would have been one sorry sight, Master Johnson having to sleep in the slave quarters after his house burned down!”
Grandpa laughed, then coughed a bit.
“Did the Yankees find the silver?” I asked.
“Lord, they tore up the place something awful looking for it, slicing the featherbeds with knives and breaking open crates and jugs. They knew he'd hid it. I think that's why they set the house afire—they were angry about not finding the money.
“A few years later, when the war ended, Master Johnson says to me, ‘Ulysses, you're as free as I am now. You can stay on and work for me, and I'll make sure you have what you need, or you can leave.’ I didn't stay long. When I was fixing to leave, Master Johnson took a piece of muslin and wrapped some money up in it and gave it to me. That's when I knew he was my daddy—he didn't have to do that.
“I used that money to buy our first fishing skiff. When I sold my first load of fish, I started putting ads in the newspapers for my Dahlia, so she'd know where I was and that I was looking for her. Everybody was putting ads in the papers in those days—seemed like every man and his uncle was looking for kin they'd lost.”
He was quiet for a time, rocking his head back and forth gently against the wooden fence rail.
“I guess I'm the only one still putting ads in. Seems everyone else either found their kin or gave up looking.”
I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. “You want a drink of water, Grandpa?”
We both got up and went to the rain barrel.
“We can put in another ad when we go with Daddy to Manteo,” I said. “We've sold so many fish I'm sure he's got an extra dollar for you.”
Grandpa nodded, but his eyes looked far away, like he was still seeing a North Carolina past that I would never know.
FOURTEEN
I dreamed of fire—of red flames leaping from the rescue station roof to the lookout deck. But it was Grandpa, burning up with fever next to me, who'd made me have the
Similar Books
